emotions intermingling with the dusk
by memingers
Summary: He wants to just fade. -HaymitchMaysilee, for Clara and the BTS Exchange at Caesar's Palace!


**a/n; for the darling clara, the best doppleganger a girl could ask for! i'm so sorry that this is late and weird, but i hope you like it.**

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i.—aftermath.

The rules say you're supposed to forget it all. The rules say that you finish the games and go back to regular life. The games are good and certainly not harmful. He knows better. The people who organized this spectacle haven't experienced this feeling. This empty, hollow feeling. Even Maysilee is blocking the memories better than him.

(He doesn't know that in exactly six months time, she'll be a bloody mess at the bottom of the building, and he'll be crying and crying and wondering where he went wrong.)

ii.—saffron and ash.

The Victory Tour has begun and Haymitch goes numb. District 11 is first, all but one killed in the bloodbath. The boy who escaped was tracked down later. They all fly by and he says his speech, is stared at with mournful eyes, and boards the train again. District One is hard—he and Maysilee killed two of their tributes on the way to their unconventional victory. The large family of Chantilly Oxford glares up at him and he feels like a deer in the headlights, frozen. It's clear that they're her relatives—they all share those crystal-clear, piercing blue eyes.

The Capitol makes him feel queasy. The gluttons, drunkards, nymphomaniacs, and drug addicts are all pathetic. They have such wealth and choose to squander it on surgery and sex. Maysilee moves her hand as she read her lines. Her nails are a bright, almost fluorescent yellow. It clearly wasn't applies by a stylist, as the paint's grain was diagonal. And considering the shade clashed horrendously with the deep purple of her dress, only Maysilee could have done it. He realizes how odd he looks, and he certainly can't smile during this moment when he's supposed to look sad and defeated, but oh how he wants to.

iii.—mentors.

He's a mentor now, and he's supposed to watch as his tributes die. The girl is older than him, which cracked him up, but skinny as hell and obviously terrified. Her name is Analise Kinley and he knows she's a bloodbath. The boy's name is Tucker (he can't remember his last time, and frankly, he doesn't care.) and he's a shrimp of a fourteen-year-old. He's tiny, but smart so hopefully he'll last for a while. Haymitch won't try to delude himself though—he knows how much of a fluke he and Maysilee were. "You take the girl and I'll take the guy?" He asks wearily, his eyes far older than his body.

She laughs bitterly. "You don't seem thrilled about this, Haymitch. We're blessed! Our district is blessed! You should be _happy._"

"Of course." He kisses her lightly on the cheek and goes to get some sleep. Heaven (or if he's not headed there, hell) knows he needs it.

prior.

The shadows are long and the sky is a striking shade of purple, and Maysilee is finally a fifth-grader. She's very proud that she skipped a grade, although annoyed she's the shortest. Her hair already makes her an outsider, why her height too? Her dad's reminded her that it's because she's smarter than the other kids, but she's still… discontented. That's a word she read today. She's still proud of herself, even with her dumb hair.

She hears a sudden noise from the bushes and whirls around. Dumb Maysilee! Her parents always told her to leave school with someone! She starts to run, but sees a clearly human pair of sharp gray eyes staring at her from the bushes. "W-why are you watching me?"

The boy stands up, brushing himself off. "Why are _you_ in the wrong part of town? You're the mayor's kid. You're too rich and precious to be here." Sarcasm blackens his words.

"I got lost." She admits. "Can you help me? Please?"

He considers her for a moment, and asks, "Is there anything in it for me?"

"My father might give you food or money."

"Fine. But after this, we're not friends. Don't get your hopes up."

"Okay. I'm Maysilee—what's your name?"

"…Haymitch."

He guides her back to her house, and impulsively, she hugs him. Giving her a look, Haymitch detaches Maysilee from his torso.

"Thank you, Haymitch."

"It's fine. Whatever." He runs back into the shadows, and disappears. It's only later that night that she realizes he never asked for payment.

iii.—the victors.

The room is dimly lit, and it appears that he and Maysilee are the last ones here. "The lovebirds arrive!" Cassidy jeers. Cass Witherel's a victor from Six, around thirty years old, and Haymitch can already tell that they won't get along. She's a bitch, he's an asshole (albeit a self-aware asshole), and he can already tell they won't get along. In a grudging way, he admires her. She won by impressing the Careers with her unlikely sword skills, and then killed all but one in their sleep. By the time in came down to the two of them, he was near dead. He was always the weakest link.

Haymitch ignores Cassidy's remark, and sits down next to some hulking, stupid Career. Maysilee follows. He reaches for the glass of wine—nothing to lose, right?

The Victors are put in a separate room during the interviews, as to avoid them giving cues to their tributes. Maysilee and Haymitch arrived at the last moment possible, and the interviews begin. First, the girl from District One. Her stylist gave her a sexy outfit, but it's clear she's more than a typical bombshell. Behind her hair-twirling and giggling, he can see the glint in her gray eyes. Luxe, her mentor, is smiling wickedly.

The districts fly by, and soon enough, everyone is jeering at Analise and Tucker. He knows he'll have to get used to it soon enough, but it still stings. Maysilee looks near murderous, especially to Cassidy, who is cackling the loudest. Afterwards, he goes up to his room, where Analise and Tucker are waiting for him.

"Haymitch," Analise calls.

"Yes?" Wearily, he turns his head.

"I have something to say." She bites her lip, but works up the courage. "Since I'm clearly going to die tomorrow, I wanted to say that you were a useless mentor. You never asked what I could do. You're a self-pitying, useless ass. And you were never any help!" Her voice rises to a shout.

"I know." His voice is low.

She dies the next day.

iv.—finale.

They both died on the first day. They both died. And you could have helped them. This repeats over and over and over in Haymitch's mind. He can't sleep, he can't eat. And he can't get her face out of his head. Angry. Betrayed. (Bad cooks lie and say that they're good.) He doesn't know where she is, and he's too tired to care. He knows he hasn't been a very good… whatever they are. But it's Maysilee, after all. She'll be fine, wherever she is. Haymitch pours himself a glass of liquor, and sits down. Technically, he's not supposed to be drinking, but what's the worst they can do? Kill him? He chuckles softly, and downs the glass. It stings his throat, but he relishes it. The burning somehow makes him feel more powerful, more in control.

He hears a siren wail outside, and looks outside the window. He sees a fan of blond hair, and blood splattering the concrete. It looks like… but no, it can't be. He rushes into the elevator, his heart pounding, and runs out the door of the ground floor. _No… no. _It's her. He kneels by her boy, and the tears he kept in slide onto her boy. His emotions intermingle with dusk and he's screaming so loudly. A doctor wrenches her body out of his arms, and he screams obscenities at him, caving into that weakness that he fought so hard against. Finally, she's taken away from him and he wants nothing more than to fade from the world.

But that's, as they say, against the rules.

v.—weary.

Her funeral is a bleak and miserable affair. Her family shows up, and some Capitol official says a not-so-heartfelt speech. It's all tidied up; no one wants to see that someone committed suicide. It's an ugly blemish on the crystal-clear façade that the Capitol shows. Many years later, he's nearly forgotten. Brandy will do that to you.

(nearly—)


End file.
